


Woe is the Weather Girl

by arisanite



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Angst, Bickering, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Funny girl, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mourning, Neighbors, Suicidal Thoughts, Weird Neighbor, Weird girl, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 10:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arisanite/pseuds/arisanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new tenant obsessed with the weather radio channel moves beside Tom’s room. He discovers that there is more to the weather and something melancholy about the new neighbor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the recommended playlist for listening for this fic:
> 
> \- Blame It On The Weatherman / B*Witched  
> \- The Blue Umbrella Suite (featuring Sarah Jaffe)  
> \- Stray Italian Greyhound / Vienna Teng

_Weather for tomorrow will be sleet-filled. Don’t expect sun or clouds. Expect the worst. The worst of your worst. Don’t go out for tea, just stay inside. In other weird news, the disappearance of a child in Bristol and the coincidental UFO appearance –_

 

He couldn’t sleep for days, ever since the new tenant in 210 moved in. He didn’t know whether it was the numerous scripts he had to read, or the fact that he’s being offered this role where he need to collaborate with his ex… Everything just felt too peculiar. And now this tenant... Tom just didn’t know which position he should be comfy in to actually get some sleep.

It has been days, yet no one in the building has any idea who the new tenant is. He felt unfortunate that he had to be beside them. He would have settled for a punk kid who would listen to rock music all night, or some jock who would shag his girlfriend senseless, making those sounds echo all throughout his sleeping time… but he has to make do with this…

Awkwardly broadcasted weather in the middle of the night…

Soft, ominous weeping at 2:30am…

And that ridiculous smell of pastries as early as 5:00am.

Tom is half-scared that maybe he’s living next to a serial killer and he’s the next victim… But he’d often tell himself that he just has an overactive imagination… Thanks to his obsession with literary, film, and acting. Well that’s how he got there in the first place.

But whatever it is, the new neighbor may be an old lady with thirteen cats, or more.

Or a witch brewing her pot late at night and the whimpering is her human sacrifice.

Or maybe it’s just a lonely teenage girl crying over her soaps and stuffing her face with pudding every night.

Oh how wrong he was.

 

***

 

A week after drowning out the sounds by watching classic films like Lawrence of Arabia and the occasional Roman Holiday just for kicks before sleeping exhausted and content like a baby, Tom went home to the sound of chatter and clinks of cups coming from the other room.

“Looks like my new flatmate’s not a hermit after all,” he thought to himself.

He was tempted to take a peek when he heard the chattering of women move towards the middle of the room and towards the door. _Might have some lucky hipster boy wearing nothing but black being followed around by middle-aged women as a neighbor_ , Tom thought disdainfully, letting his evil and haughty side take over his thoughts even once in his lifetime.

To his surprise, he saw the ladies about mid-twenties exit the room, all dressed in black jackets, slightly morose and sympathetic. And they were talking to a small girl who was probably not older than twenty-one, standing by the doorframe, her little button nose pointing downwards as her light-haired companion wagged a finger in her direction before scooping her up in a big hug.

Nobody seemed to notice the blue eyes peeking from the other apartment, behind the chain lock as he tried to get a better glimpse of the mousy little girl in the big striped bonnet and sweater that is two sizes bigger than her.

 

***

 

_Never talk to a dancing bear. Unless you plan to talk to them in Russian. They prefer to be called Chekov most of the time. Weather for tomorrow will be more rain. Rainier than your November Rain. No, its not a pun. Sorry to Guns and Roses fans but –_

 

Tom has started to fight back against that little mousy girl’s choice of entertainment by playing Bon Iver (or Mumford and Sons on various occasions) on the highest volume after attempting to read his lines out loud before auditions. But he realized that fighting with a girl probably a decade younger with him using radios, playlists, and tracks played simultaneously from his iPod at the wee hours of the morning isn’t going to make him a better person.

If there was one thing Tom liked the new girl about, it’s the weather reports. Somewhat, despite the stupid and pointless occult and weird topics discussed in her favorite radio show, the weather announcements are often accurate. At first he didn’t believe it and he even thought that she didn’t take them seriously either, but one early morning before he left for a quick visit to Cornwall, he saw the newly set up umbrella rack just outside her door holding a brightly colored red umbrella that wasn’t there before. He found himself snorting as he went for the elevator, but the moment he got out of his friends car – the sky just fell on him, drenching him wet.

Trust me girls, you all know you want Tom Hiddleston drenched and soaked when he’s in that tight pants and that tight white shirt… but he doesn’t look happy at all. He’s even got that Loki smirk going on as if he’s daring to destroy London for a change as he marched into that barbecue he promised to attend…

The moment he got back to his apartment after one night of wild partying, he looked at the girl’s door and impressively snorted when he realized that her umbrella rack is empty.

 _Little missy got her weather right_ , he thought amusingly. _Lucky first guess._

It happened again during one evening before he was picked up by Luke during an awards ceremony. The moment he saw the red umbrella sitting in its stand, he started calling Luke up. Lo and behold, it poured the moment he got in the middle of the red carpet. The first thing he did was look up the moment a giant raindrop fell on his nose, wasted a minute of airtime just gaping at the interviewer, realizing that maybe that radio show the girl listened to held some truth. Even the weather forecasters make mistakes, weather can’t be 100% sure… especially at this time of the year. But that girl…

 _Maybe it pays off listening to that weird radio show,_ Tom thought. _I wonder what kick she gets out of it, aside from the weather_.

 

***

 

One day, Tom opened his door and saw a poorly packaged box, wet and dilapidated, sitting on his door step. It was heavy upon the first pickup, and he realized it isn’t his the moment he read the inscription on the flap: “To: Sofia McMillan, Re: Melinda McMillan’s belongings”. Seeing the address being written as RM 210 instead of his RM 211, he realized that it’s for that troublesome little weather girl next door.

Holding his pen in his teeth as he picked up his post-in notes in one hand, Tom scribbled on one yellow piece:

“ _Sent to the wrong room. I believe this is yours, weather girl. From the boy at 211.”_

Slapping it on the flap, Tom was only sporting a satisfied grin as he silently applauded himself for the sarcastic nickname he just gave this girl who he hasn’t met yet.

A day later, after going out for a run, Tom saw a pink post-it covering the 211 on his door.

 _“Oh. I must be disturbing you with my radio. I apologize, and thanks for the package, Mr. 211._ ”

You should have seen the satisfied grin on his face as he yanked it off his door, laughing to himself as he folded the pink post it note, held it in between his fingers for a while before throwing it in a waste bin.

 _At least she knows that her late night radio runs are weirding the rest of the floor out_.

 

***

 

_Never talk to men in trenchcoats. Chances are, they have been working for Area 51 and have tentacles hidden underneath their brown suits. Or worse, naked with one tentacle. Ladies you know what I’m talking about. Weather for tomorrow will be sunny. I repeat. Sunny. All vampires, please stay indoors._

 

If there was one thing Tom was looking forward to upon coming home after his early run, it’s that pink note on his door.

 

_I’m sorry sir, but your Bon Iver playlist at 12 midnight is so hipster. – The Weathergirl_

_I’m sorry It must be too scary for your staple radio show about aliens, dancing bears, conspiracies that the US Head of State is a shapeshifter, as well as implied tentacle rape. – Boy from 211_

_I’m sorry sir, if it creeps you out. I’ll just change my preferences for something more... hipster. – The Weathergirl_

_Oh, sassy aren’t you. Be careful, passing robbers might steal your sweet pudding being cooked at four-thirty in the morning. – Boy from 211_

_It’s okay sir, passing robbers at 4:30 am are usually fleeing Body Snatchers. They don’t like peppermint on their pudding. – The Weathergirl_

 

Tom hasn’t laughed out that loud in months.

He appreciated how this “Weathergirl” (who actually had a proper name) is so witty, despite her weird choice of radio channels and that odd hours of baking. He enjoyed this kind of communication, just leaving notes at each other’s doors. Passing tenants wouldn’t usually take a second look, being used to the amount of notices and bills being left in front of one’s apartment, but in the middle of all those advertisements, packages, and what not left in front of his door, the sight of the pink note just makes Tom laugh… even if he haven’t read its contents just yet.

One morning, he just snatched that pink note out of his door before even doing his early morning run, and was thinking of a reply to her “ _I happen to like eating cakes, especially the mousse-based ones… but I can’t make them”_ , when he heard a soft knock on his door.

Reluctantly opening it, he peeked out to see who it was.

“Hello sir, I was hoping I could borrow a bit of sugar…”

And there she was, standing in front of him… 5’1” in all her glory… was the Weather Girl.


	2. Chapter 2

_Roses are such naughty and mean things. Not just that the fact that they prick you with their bloody thorns, but truth is, they’re poisonous after the frost when consumed. The blue ones I mean. The rare blue ones vampires eat the moment they become what they are… bloody blood suckers. The moment the spring dew touches them, they’re not poisonous anymore. Why else would you eat one? …unless you’re a vampire._

_Weather for tomorrow is sunny. Well WHAT DO YOU KNOW – it will rain in the afternoon._

_Always keep your trust umbrella beside you._

 

Her name is Sofia.

She’s barely even twenty-two, or so that’s what Tom thought. She claims that she’s already legal, she can drink whatever she wants, and she’s turning twenty-two in three months. But with the way she looks, her gait, her height, her demeanor, the way she tilts her glasses on her nose, the way she shuffles her socked feet to the side, the way she looks up at him with those big beady brown eyes –

 _Looks may be deceiving,_ Tom would tell himself, _but she really looks as if she’s even barely legal._

_And all by herself!_

 

“Why do you need that cup of sugar anyway?” he’d ask.

“I don’t eat anything but apple pies for breakfast. Cherry when I’m sick,” she’d usually answer.

“Pies? For breakfast?!” He’d laugh as he handed her a small bag of crushed sugar cubes from his stash. “That’s very peculiar.”

“That’s how my mom would do it,” she’d whisper silently, her eyes slowly being shadowed behind her long bangs.

 

He’d snort upon hearing her mention her mom about once or twice in their short conversations. _She’s just a kid_ , he’d muse to himself, watching her shuffle nervously underneath his presence and his 6’2” height. _Poor thing_.

 

“Why do you listen to that creepy show anyway?” he’d ask again.

She’d smile and fix her glasses before answering. “It’s me mum’s favorite,” she’d say, something nostalgic flashing in her eyes. “We used to listen to it before going to bed.”

Tom laughs at that mention of her mother again. “You seem to miss your mum so much,” he tried to put it lightly without offending her. “Why don’t you see her? Give your mum a visit and make her happy?”

 

To his surprise, her nostalgic smile disappeared.

The sound that came out of her was grave, monotonous, and worst of it all… melancholy.

 

“I can visit her whenever I want really,” she said gravely. “But I prefer not to.”

“Why not?” Tom asked.

“The ground’s just newly tilled,” she said cryptically. “I asked for flowers to be placed on her grave, and I told them I’d come visit once the daffodils I asked to be planted have grown. Maybe by that time, I’m much more like my old self.”

Tom looked at her with much shock, realizing how harsh his words must have been to her. Dropping his hands to his sides, he ended up slumping a bit as he whispered a soft, “I’m sorry.”

She composed herself and shrugged. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

And with that, the grief was gone.

Or so he thought.

 

Feeling sorry for the young girl, who was now all alone, bereft of a father who died years before and a mother who recently died in an accident, Tom decides to forego of all her weird late night musings with the creepy radio stations… and suddenly the early morning sobbing started to make sense.

“Uhm, Sofia,” he called out before she went out of his door carrying the bag of sugar. “I’m your neighbor. Feel free to ask me for anything, anything at all I can help you with. I know it is hard being alone…”

She looked at him in a calculating manner, eyeing him from head to toe… wondering if she’d take up the offer of a man whom she only talked to through post-it-notes, a stranger whom she silently battled with through the walls using their audio utilities… But to trust him? Those brown eyes glinted with uncertainty.

“That’s really nice of you sir,” she said politely, dropping her eyes as she nodded.

“Come on, I have a name,” he laughed nonchalantly.

“Oh sorry,” she said apologetically, slightly bowing. “Sorry Mr. 211.”

He laughed out loud, realizing that she only knows him by the little nickname she fashioned after him which he used to sign all his yellow post-it-notes. “The name’s Tom,” he said politely, reaching down to offer his hand.

The girl blinked at the offered handshake, before pushing the glasses up her nose and taking it, giving it a firm tug.

“Thanks Tom,” she said curtly, before smiling. “I’d appreciate that.”

Never have he realized that a girl so tiny could hold a smile so big.

 

 

***

 

There was one rainy morning after toiling himself at a convention where he had to do a lot of things unimaginable, from singing Disney Songs to doing raptor impressions… He even believes that he was coerced into playing Indiana Jones for one segment! Finally back home, to his baked potatoes, pudding, and chocolate, Tom was expecting his weekend to be trouble free and nothing but pure relaxation. Till he realized that he’s out of milk.

Quickly getting out of his kitchen and his apartment as early as six in the morning, he was on his way out… when he ominously saw Sofia’s red umbrella sitting outside her door, in its little rack, something she does the night before to remind herself that it’s going to rain the next day.

Thinking of scrambling back into his flat to get his only blue umbrella, he had to stop and lightly bang his head on his door reading 211 when he realized that he accidentally broke it during that one time he was rushing out for a meeting.

Doing the unexpected, he found himself knocking at the room reading 210.

It took probably a few minutes before the girl opened the door, her eyeglasses misty, her nose beaded with sweat… with two huge oven mitts dwarfing her tiny hands.

Not to mention that the aroma of apples were wafting out of the door…

Closing his eyes and taking a whiff of the scent, he asked dreamily, “Is that apples?”

The girl nodded curtly, one gloved hand holding the door. “Precisely,” she said. “Can I help you Tom?”

He blinked twice, fazed by her curtness. He pointed towards the stairs and said, “Can I borrow your umbrella? I think it’s gonna rain –“ He found himself stuttering the moment she raised an eyebrow and smiled. “ – A-and I ran out of milk. Man those apples smell great, do you need me to buy you anything at the shop?”

The girl looked up at him with those big beady eyes, seemingly surprised and in thought. “Well yes,” she suddenly answered. “I may need a few more apples for a second batch…”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “How many batches do you make everyday?”

Sofia shrugged and said, “One. Two when I feel fidgety. I really appreciate this Tom.” She looked at him with grateful eyes, still holding on to the door as the man pulled out the red umbrella from her rack. “I can pay you back –“

“No need to,” he said with a smile. “Consider this as a friendly and welcome-to-the-building gesture that I failed to give you when you first arrived.”

“That’s amazing,” she beamed.

 

***

 

An hour later, she was pulling out the second pie out of the oven, while Tom was on her small coffee table, sampling the previous apple pie.

“Thish ish superhb,” the dessert-loving man said through a full mouth as the girl chuckled lightly, placing the newly baked pastry on her kitchen counter. Taking a gulp, he wiped his mouth and beamed up at her like a satisfied five-year-old who had just been fed by his mother.

“Really now?” Sofia said with much amusement, taking the bandanna off her long hair and one glove, before crossing her arms. “It’s really that good, ei?”

Tom just nodded animatedly.

She laughed. “Alright fine,” the little girl mused. “You can take this newly baked one home.”

The idea of free pastries just thrilled the 32-year-old man. “That is brilliant!” Tom exclaimed. “You surely should make more, because seriously, for a girl your age, you sure are a good cook!”

The girl shook her head and laughed with him. “You sure know how to a praise a lady, Tom” she commented. “Your girlfriend must be so lucky.”

Looking up at her, wide-eyed, and mouth stuffed with pie… Tom tried to laugh with his mouth full.

“Hrahahahahagahahrgahsgh!”

 

***

 

With his stomach full, and his dinner perfect… Tom was so thankful for the pie he couldn’t even express it. He promised he’d go running twice as much the next day as he loosened his belt, wondering what possessed him to eat that much pie in one sitting.

But what made him happy is that he discovered something so amazing in a new friend.

As he turned his playlist down to listen to the pouring rain outside his flat, he sat in his chair content and ready for bed…

…when he heard it again.

That soft whimpering coming from the other room.

 

 

***

 

_Beware the Wendigo and the thirst of blood. Most likely it shall consume you as well._

_Weather for tomorrow won’t be enough for your umbrella. Bring a shelter. A thunder storm is coming._

He does not know what possessed him, but he completely forgot to tell his pie-making neighbor that he won’t be able to join her for a second helping since he’s off to a one-month research trip with Steve McQueen and his to-be cast mates for his new project. However, Tom felt he was forgetting something when he took the envelope containing a few bills for the apples she “borrowed” and the post-it note that said “Thank you Mr. 211” before smiling at the handwriting and pocketing it on his way out at almost 3:30am in the morning.

For a moment, he felt like he was lost in time… exploring Rome, Venice, and some historically-linked parts of France. He forgot about his problems, forgot about his city, forgot about the nagging pressures of his daily work and was completely submerged in the culture and the history of wherever he was going through. It was a precious experience, having seen things and going through this path the same way he never went through before.

For a moment, he forgot about his cozy home, his favorite playlist (that was actually with him, but untouched as he went through a different set of classical music to suit his surroundings), and the smell of pumpkin spice coming from the other room…

…Tom felt like he was free from all that, till it started to rain.

 

 

By the time he got back to his flat, a month and probably a week have passed. He had been invited to spend a week with an old friend, where he found the silence he needed to focus on his new work as he read scripts in a beautiful bay house beside the sea.

However, there was an unusual silence when he got back to his flat. Smiles abound, he passed by 210, thinking about knocking and saying hello to the girl whom he silently dubbed as his favorite neighbor, when he noticed that the rack that held her precious umbrella wasn’t outside the door anymore.

 _That’s it!_ Tom exclaimed inside his head. _I forgot to give her back her umbrella!_

Quickly unlocking his door, he quickly went through his belongings till he found the unused red umbrella lying near his stack of old unused newspapers. Grabbing it, he then hurried his way outside and rapped on the door of 210, expecting the girl to answer him in her checkered apron, long hair tied back in a bandanna, her oven-mitted gloves holding the door.

But to his surprise, a boy opened the door… a blonde boy a few years older than her, with his scarf and leather jacket. Tom blinked at him, looking at the boy’s fringe that seemed to remind him of his own.

“Might I ask,” he exclaimed, taking a subtle peek inside the apartment. “But is Sofia in?”

The green-eyed boy made a weird face at him. “Sophia?” he said in a puzzled tone.

Exasperated, Tom tried to gesture – “A little girl, just about your shoulder, who used to live in this flat –“ but no matter how he explained, he can’t seem to get the boy to recognize his Weather Girl.

“You mean the previous tenant?”

The taller blonde’s smile disappeared.

“I don’t know what exactly happened to her, but her Great Aunt leased this flat to me,” the boy, whom he found out later was named Nicky, explained. “You should ask the landowner about what happened to the weird girl who lived here. I’m not sure about her state.”

For a moment, Tom felt as if the rainclouds were positioned over his head.

 

 

***

 

“We didn’t expect it to happen at all…”

He was in a complete daze on the way from his landlady’s office to the hospital across the city. They said that it took them a day to realize that Sofia was lying unconscious in her room, her radio still on, with her wrists bleeding. They figured it out when she didn’t come out to give the land lady a piece of the pies she repeatedly makes every day that one morning.

 _How could she do this –_ The question keeps repeating in his head, sort of wondering why the silent and somewhat cheeky girl would end up hurting herself this way. _Why would she –_

“We had no idea she was that depressed,” his landlady explained, touching his arm that still held the red umbrella he was supposed to return. “We knew that she was all alone when her mother died,” the woman of about seventy said disdainfully. “But we had no idea that the grief must have been eating her inside out…”

Pale and blank faced, the girl’s supposedly famous but unknown male neighbor found himself standing face to face with the girl’s stern-looking Great Aunt, who now sat by her bedside.

“You must be Sofia’s friend,” the old woman exclaimed as she coldly shook Tom’s hand, as he held the red umbrella mechanically by his side.

“I was her neighbor,” he whispered. “I only came back from a trip to find out that this happened to her.”

“I didn’t expect our Fia to have a friend,” the old lady exclaimed, patting the unconscious girl’s hand. “She has always been all alone, and only had her mother for comfort. Her father died when she was young… We always thought it was unfortunate for her to be left on her own at such a young age.”

Her tall friend couldn’t agree more, but he couldn’t speak as he sat along with his land lady on the couch across the bed.

He couldn’t see how pale her face is, or how the bandages tied up her hands, but they said that poor Sofia lost so much blood in the six hours she was unconscious and the girl have already awakened twice or thrice ever since she was brought to the hospital a week ago… But she chooses to stay asleep due to her refusal to eat and the weakness of her body.

“W-will she be returning to her room?” Tom found himself speaking, interrupting to the two old women who were discussing the boy who currently lived in the flat.

“No son,” her Great Aunt Camilla replied, forcing a small thin smile crease out of her lips. “Sofia shall be staying with me when she decides to wake up. She will be recovering with the help of a Doctor I requested for her… at her state, it would be better if she had someone from her family to take care of her.”

She then turns to the land lady. “About the room…”

Tom found himself being left all alone in the hospital suite as the two women walked out into the hall, discussing the lease. Now seeing a full view of the friend he just made a month ago, he saw the stringy way her once thick long black hair fell on her shoulders, as well as the bony way her shoulders stood out, having been living on dextrose fluids for almost three days now.

He kept on telling himself that if he knew that she was miserable…

If he knew that she was lonely…

If only he knew that she felt that there was nowhere else to run to…

He found himself standing up as he stood beside her, his large hands holding her cold, unresponsive bandaged ones. “It must be miserable not having to listen to your favorite show,” he whispered, eyes welling up with tears.

He hung the red umbrella on the table beside her bed. “I’m sorry I haven’t returned this sooner,” he said, kneeling beside her, hoping she could hear the words he whispered close to her ear. “I’m sorry I haven’t been the friend you needed, Sofia…”

He painfully swallowed the lump in his throat as he held back his tears.

“But it’s not too late.”

He held her small clammy hands in his and squeezed them. “You will get better, weather girl,” Tom said it as-a-matter-of-factly. “You will wake up eventually, and you know you have to. You will become a good baker and you will make your friends happy…”

He smiled, fighting back his tears. “I barely knew you, but with the way you fought back, with the way you had a passion in things, the way you went by your routine everyday – _I know you are strong, Sofia_.”

He wiped back a tear he couldn’t hide anymore.

“And you promised me bread pudding,” he added. “You have to get better.”

With that, Tom composed himself as he stood up and released the girl’s hands… wondering why someone would throw their life away so easily. But he didn’t know grief any better as the next guy, friends who lost their loved ones and their parents could only tell him not to wish for the feeling. He wished he knew better.

But he wished for a new friend to be stronger.

And with that, he decided to let this one go so she can find her strength.

 

 

***

 

_Winter is over, Spring has passed, and here comes Summer. Say hello to all the humans who just dug themselves out of their graves and say goodbye to the creatures of the night who come crawling back into their caves._

_Weather will be sunny, as it always should have been._

 

 

Stepping out of the tube, looking different with his unshaved beard and longer curly hair, Tom had been warily looking from side to side…

Ever since his popularity boomed with the numerous acting jobs he have aced, there would be either a paparazzi or a rabid fangirl looming around every corner. At first he found it to be something so funny, being a fanboy himself… but with how the rave has been going these days? Tom could only shake his head.

There was a huge surge of people hurrying past him in their hoods and umbrellas since it has started to rain. He had to swerve out a way when a woman almost bumped into him as she ran for the shelter at a bus stop, when it was suddenly filled with people.

Lips as thin as a line, part of his inner evil self was berating the little woman standing in the middle of the rain holding her hood up… when she suddenly turned around with this slightly worried face as she held her hood high above her head, making sure that the pouring rain does not touch her bangs.

Tom swore he would have bitten his tongue when he walked a bit forward away from the surge of people to get a better look at her.

It was her.

The weather girl.

Albeit much healthier than when he last saw her, wearing a whole new set of clothes compared to that drab sweatshirt and oversized vest she wore when he last saw her. She had much shorter hair now and shorter bangs that framed her face… making her look a bit older than what she told him to be. He could have sworn he saw a bit of color on her cheeks and the sparkle of gloss on her lips.

 _My, my_ , Tom mused to himself as he watched her try to find some space in the bus stop shelter. _She has changed._

But if there was a greater change… is that she didn’t have her umbrella at all.

She was there, getting drenched in her green hood, standing near the bus stop… clearly trying to out step the man beside her who was two sizes larger and taller than her.

Cold and shivering, waiting for the bus to arrive… Sofia was suddenly surprised when the trickling of rain suddenly stopped, and she found herself under the shadow of a blue umbrella.

“Isn’t it weird,” she heard a familiar voice beside her. “For the weather girl to be without her umbrella?”

A frown appeared on her face as she looked up to the rude man beside her, when those eyes suddenly widened upon recognizing his face.

“Tom?” she suddenly grinned. “Mr. 211! It is you!”

He just had to laugh when he heard that old nickname, as the girl finally eased her hold on her hood and let it fall on her shoulders as she looked up at him, safe that she’s under an umbrella.

“How are you?!”

“I’m doing fine – how are you?!”

“I’m much better…” she smiled, absent-mindedly running her fingers on the spot covered by her finger-less mittens, where the scars on her wrist would be. “Weather girl doesn’t really need an umbrella anymore when she has a friend to hold it for her.”

Never have Tom smiled that brightly before.

In fact, she was busy admiring the way he beamed at her that she completely lost track of the bus that just passed by and picked up majority of the people crowding under the covered stop.

“Shall I accompany you home?”

Sofia shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Tom beams and says, “It would be my pleasure, weather girl.”

 

“So are you still living with your creepy aunt?”

“She’s not creepy!” She sighs. “Okay maybe she is…”

“See, I’m right,” he says proudly.

“She couldn’t stand my pastries! I’m boarding with a friend now. But I come visit her when I can,” she explains. “She was the one who took care of me when I was sick…”

He felt a little bit guilty. “Awww, you wouldn’t come back to the previous building?” he seems to plead.

“I heard that I was living nearby a high-profile celebrity… They must have raised the rates by now…”

“…”

“THAT WAS YOU?! Nice work on Only Lovers Left Alive by the way,” the girl says with the wink as they walk away from the stop.

“Very funny weather girl.”

“WILL YOU STOP CALLING ME THAT?”

 

 

_There are different kinds of love, and a demon can fall in love with a succubus. But most of all, a vampire and its hunter can be friends. So can the unstoppable force of nature and a little girl who learns to control it._

_Always keep an umbrella ready, who knows when it will rain!_

 

 

Funny thing was, he started listening to that late night show as well.

And when he can, he listens to it with her.


End file.
